Demon Sword Experimental Viewpoint
by Arimadios
Summary: A Massacre on the beach. This story is a one shot, with nearly NO Plot. It's meant to be like that, it's 'filmed' from the viewpoint of a sword in the sand, watching the battle. Enjoy, and Review please. I'd like to know if this feels like a good view.


Morrowind: **_Demon sword_**

A/N this is an EXPERIMENTAL Fan fiction. I wrote it to see if I could write a good fan fiction without characters really, just the scenes. The pure, unadulterated Brutality of a massacre, with no faces or people or locations, just the swords and the blood and the dust and the mud.

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The ash storm raged about as the two swords clashed, throwing minute sparks away from the blades. The sound of shuffling feet was heard, and the black sword spun to the left. The sound of blade biting flesh was heard, and a shower of blood rained onto the dusty beach. The blood slowly flowed down into the ocean, the sand soaking up most of it. A spray of dust kicked up, and pounding feet suddenly stopped amongst the ringing of steel.

A silver colored blade pulled sparks from the aether as it slid along the steel pauldron of its foe. Mindless, but focused, it dove again, a massive thrust. The blackened blade bit into its side, and slid it away, a shield joining the fray, smashing into the hand that held it. A scream and a wet sound. The head plopped into view, cat-like eyes staring blankly as it watched its body drop. With a crunch, it disintegrated under the heavy foot-falls of its slayer. Another biting sound and a scream. The Steel armor fell, an arrow sticking out of its back, while a spear shot over its body, impaling yet another foe. The scream was slow to come, but loud. The sound of breaking bone, and white chunks of chitin hit the ground.

Still, the two white feet stood tall against the demonic armored foe. The sharp spear was thrown aside, landing in the back of the first to fall, as lighting struck the ground in the dust storm, turning sand to glass. The opposing feet hammered down onto it, and a war-cry was sounded, as the ether was sundered. A Massive red flame engulfed the enemy, and he vanished, a Daikatana heavy in its palms. There was a scream, and with a massive swing, he finished a foe, two halves collapsing before him, soaking the sand and running beneath the glass. The sound of thunder again, but it made no sand this time. The demon figure merely charged the caster.

Sand erupted from around his feet as he charged, Eager and ready to kill. A final burst of sand, and a banshee's wail. A Wakizashi sang happily as it cleaved through the air, a massive burst of fire shooting from the back of its feast, into the one behind.

The ether swirled, the imperialist man behind felt his life being ripped from his body. Ribbons of purple white light surrounded him as he fell to a knee gasping, his flesh rapidly decaying. Such beautiful things he saw in his last moments, a demon's face singing wildly as the Daikatana bit into his flesh, sundering his head. A massive bolt of lightning again, this time, sending the man to his knees. The sound of a cork, and the cork fell to the ground, followed by drops of a red liquid. A sneer sounded out, and the man on his knees rose up, slashing into the surprised caster's face. The man screamed as he reeled back, throwing another lightning spell. The aether sundered once more, blue lances of light impaling the demon, even as he turned to face his next foe, before falling, scorched flesh cracked and bleeding as the lightning laced over his body. But the mage fared no better.

Dust erupted from beside his body as he fell, two more entering the fray. The bone-like armor was sundered as the war-hammer crashed into him, blasting him back a good twenty feet. But that didn't stop the bone-like shell. Shards of bone impaled the man behind, coming to support, ending his charge instantly as one entered his head and stuck free of the helmet's back. The hammer spun again, smashing down onto the man's chest, bone splintering and breaking as the sound of a gong sounded, deafening the man. He jumped from the ground in anger, and swung again, his Axe slamming into the bare chested man, and sending his legs flying to the side as his torso dropped like a stone.

The war-hammer swung again, smashing into the leg of his slayer, his last movement in life. The leg broke away, sending the bone mold armor crashing to the ground. Dust again, as the ash storm parted to reveal the battle field. Men of all kinds battled on the sand; the ringing of steel was enough to deafen some. The scenes of Ether sundering, belching fire and snow, or lightning and a snake's venom, covered the fields. The ocean ran red with the blood of the fallen, and the sand was mostly glass. The corpses of a time long past erupted from the ground as a necromancer screeched his orders.

One, in particular, stood above the rest as it swung its blade. The claymore ripped into the man ahead, sending its foe flying into ribbons as magic echoed through his form, utterly destroying his prey. With a Twist, it came again, shattering a skeletal warrior as it strove to slice his own bones. A Morning star crashed into its skull, shattering what little remained, but not sundering it. It jerked the star free of its holder's grasp.

With the sound of a bruise forming, and the sickening sound of flesh cut clean away, a man screamed in pain, and was impaled mid-air by a bolt of ice, that shattered on impact, it's blue frost freezing three men solidly. Maces crashed, and men shattered, blood erupting, still forever frozen by the elder ice. A War-cry sounded, but it did not simply strive to give men great feats. It blasted a man back, slamming him into a mage, who burst apart from the impact, his torso and head freed of their burdens. The voice of the north continued on, forcing men to their knees as the great-axe sundered man after man, blood flowing into its wielder.

There was a crash, and the man dove back from the massive green cloud. The mage twisted his hands again, throwing as punch, the green lance impaling the axe's wielder. The axe went flying, landing in the hands of another man, who sliced into the mage. With a sinning flourish, the mage slid away from his life, pieces of his body lying in the sand. A Bolt of lightning hammered the sand once more, the glass showing the face of a man, freshly buried, forever frozen in time, his face a mere shadow of a man amongst the sand.

Dirt blasted over the sand as a man grabbed hold of his foe, and flung him wide, the man's bow shattered on impact. He smiled as he punched another, sending him flying back into the palms on the beach.

Slowly, but surely, the air turned the color of blood, as it rained back down on the earth, men could be seen as the dust storm died down, hanging in mid air, pikes through their bodies as they slowly floated up, their enchanted armors forcing their corpses high into the sky. Others would fall as their magics left them, crashing down, killing men with sheer weight. A blade flashed twice, and the sound of a ringing sheathe was heard. It sang once more, and another man fell, five more pairs of feet throwing up dust around the creature in the center. The wind sang once more.

A man fell, pieces of his body too many to count. The blade sang again, a burst of fire along its edge incinerated a man, and it flashed, biting into the boiled leather armor of its foe. The foe screamed, but bent backwards strangely as the man flipped, his sword cutting down the center of the last. But a single dagger slipped into his side, and then through his neck, and the man fell, his singing sword going silent. The slayer finally stood tall, panting slowly, as the last of the men around him collapsed from their wounds. He panted, and walked north, his dagger content in what it had done.

A single arrow whistled through the air, and the dagger fell to the ground, shamed by its own stupidity, as the man who held it fell. It screeched in anger as it slid along the glass it had landed on. The loner ranger collapsed back down onto the sand, panting harshly, even as his eyes finally drifted closed. His chest slowly stopped moving, before finally stilling quietly, the man finishing his life, dead on the beach, amongst so many others who had shared his dream. The sword in the center slowly closed it's eye, grinning to it's self as it drifted back into ageless slumber, waiting once more to be discovered as the sand blew over it's form once more.

A Demon knows his place, and no mortal will possess THIS blade.

**_-Fin-_**

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A/N this is an experimental story, so any reviews would be much appreciated. Tell me where it went wrong, despite the lack of plot, (Except at the end, like an after-thought) and where it felt like you were the sword, watching the fights around and above you. 


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